


And They Won't Go

by imperfectkreis



Series: Lambert/Aiden fics [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Backstory, Established Relationship, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Short fic from tumblr prompts or just to make other people suffer with me.





	1. teeth

**Author's Note:**

> mostly I blame [kittybenzedrine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kittybenzedrine/pseuds/kittybenzedrine) who just shows up in my tumblr inbox with Lambert/Aiden feelings to make me suffer.

They sit side by side in the grass, just off the main road. Far enough not to be in the way or the carts and draft animals that will foolishly travel through the night, but close enough to keep an eye on those clowns.

Their shoulders barely touching, Aiden and Lambert eat in silence. That is, until Lambert conjures up a question. He has so many, it’s embarrassing. But Aiden’s answers are usually direct. Which puts Lambert’s mind at ease. Sometimes, there’s still the sharp edge of mocking. Tolerable though, because Aiden usually follows up any jab with the press of his thigh against Lambert’s.

“So, what is with your teeth?” Lambert asks, picking at the skin around his nails.

Reflexively, Aiden sticks his hand into his mouth, running the pad of his thumb over each of his filed canines. “Sute, one of the other boys who made it through the Trials, told me they looked funny flat. So one night, we stole a metal file from one of the older men, and set about trying to make them sharp. We figured the mutations meant, you know, that it wouldn’t hurt. Hurt like a fucking bitch though. And it was all uneven. About ten years later I went to a doctor who evened them out for me.”

“So,” the follow up question should be obvious. Lambert leans back on his elbows, unable to resist brushing his hand against Aiden’s side. Aiden leans into Lambert softly, waiting for him to continue. “Are you a half-elf then?”

Aiden shrugs, “Dunno. I don’t think half, because, you know,” he tugs at his ears, perfectly round and human. “I don’t remember my parents at all. Not a thing. I’m not sure.”

Lambert grunts, not having another question to pose. Sometimes Aiden has a followup, sometimes he doesn’t. And Lambert has already spilled just about everything he remembers of his parents. Aiden hung on every word, offering kind encouragements and insisting that Lambert should forgive himself. But it’s pointless. Lambert will only commit more atrocities to fill the empty spaces. That’s okay, though, because he doesn’t have to be a witcher to be terrible.


	2. breathe

“You’re shit at this,” Lambert barks, once Aiden’s ass hits the ground. He’d been trying, for once, to teach Aiden something useful about combat. Something that would keep Aiden from getting gutted where he stood. Didn’t they fucking teach Cats anything?

Breathing heavily, Aiden looks like he’s in no hurry to bounce back up.

Taking a step closer, Lambert offers his friend a hand up. Aiden reaches for it, but instead of pulling himself up, he yanks Lambert down.

“I don’t know,” Aiden mocks, once Lambert is in a messy heap atop him. “I got the exact outcome I wanted.”


	3. ring

What the fuck is that?” Lambert grabs Aiden’s hand, pulling it in front of his face to examine the ring more closely. But it’s not as if he was mistaken. The silver band stands out sharply against the warmth of Aiden’s skin. There’s no stone on it, no engraving. It can’t be worth much coin at all.

“Not your fucking business?” Aiden counters, tugging back his arm so he can put on his other glove.

Lambert snickers, “Running some con on some country girl? Want to clue me in?”

Rolling his eyes, Aiden asks, “Ever see me sweet on a farm girl?”

“Doesn’t need to be real, for a job.”

Aiden huffs, “Fair enough,” and turns away, as if this conversation is over.

“What is it for then?” Lambert kicks at the back of Aiden’s heels, scuffing the leather of his boots until his friend whips back around.

“What do you mean?” Aiden waves his hand in front of Lambert’s face, letting him get an eyeful. “Maybe I went and married the bumpkin of my dreams. Beautiful ceremony, he wore white and I fucked him in front of his whole family.” The creeping bitterness in Aiden’s voice catches Lambert off-guard. Lambert only wanted to know what kind of deception Aiden was planning. To maybe have a laugh at someone else’s expense.

“Fuck off then, I don’t care,” Lambert says, unable to respond with anything other than equal bile. It was just a fucking question.

Lambert doesn’t see Aiden for the rest of the day. They’ve got separate business in Novigrad. Hell, Lambert only saw his friend this morning when he went to check if Aiden was still renting that attic room near the Gate of the Hierarch. Coincidence that they met up at all.

He’s on his way back to the Seven Cats when his Cat falls in step beside him, hood up, hands gloved. But Lambert knows Aiden by his posture, his gait, his near-silent steps, and the scent of his skin.

“Sometimes, I like to pretend,” Aiden admits without pretension. “Keeps me sane, I think.”

They keep walking, neither able to look the other in the eye. If they’re moving, maybe the gravity of this moment won’t be so heavy. But Lambert already feels like there are stones stacked in his chest.

“What are you pretending? What’s this fantasy of yours?”

“Don’t make me say it, Lambert.”

Lambert huffs into the darkness. Late enough that the lamps are out. Doesn’t matter. They can both see just fine, “Maybe I want to play along.”


	4. Hair

Lambert scowls, reaching into Aiden’s hair, just above the curve of his ear. He spreads his fingers wide, letting dark strands slip in between, settling over the back of his hand. Aiden’s scalp is warm, and his hair feels full of dirt. Even though they both washed in the stream this morning, Aiden didn’t wet his hair.

“Why is your hair so long?” Lambert pulls, keeping his grip tight enough to hurt a little. He’s got his thighs spread over Aiden’s hips, his full weight resting in Aiden’s lap. The position is ludicrous, really. But Lambert admits he takes some small pleasure in how sitting like this gets Aiden to squirm, when usually it’s the Cat who is a fucking insufferable tease.

“Why is your hair so long?” Aiden parrots back like a fucking idiot, snapping his teeth together on each hard sound. Rolling his eyes, Aiden sets his hands on Lambert’s hips, though it’s unclear if he’s trying to get Lambert to hold still or grind against him in earnest. “It looks good long, it’s in style, it gets the boys’ attention, I like it, lots of reasons.”

“Yeah,” Lambert rasps, canting forward a little bit, trying to balance his weight so they don’t topple backwards out of the shitty wooden chair in Aiden’s rented room. The crash would definitely be noticed by the family that lives below him. And knowing how everyone in this part of the city fucking looks at /Lambert/ like he doesn’t belong, they’ll probably think he’s up here murdering their precious Aiden. “You try and get the attention of lots of boys?” Lambert teases, “gonna get your arse in trouble.”

Aiden hums, “getting my arse in trouble is sort of the idea.”

Lambert can’t help but bark in laughter, tugging Aiden by his too-long hair so his head tilts to the side, exposing the brown expanse of his neck. Curling forward to lick against Aiden’s skin, Lambert adds teeth until Aiden finally gasps, the pressure of his hands around Lambert’s hips growing tight.

“Besides,” Aiden tries to keep the upper hand. But Lambert knows he’s failing from the bulge of his cock, incessantly pressing into Lambert’s thigh. “Got your attention just fine.”

They need to be careful about the noise. At least, Lambert is pretty sure they do. Though, he’s not sure what any of Aiden’s housemates think they are to each other. Other than they’re both Witchers. The room Aiden rents is more a storage crate than a home.

“Wasn’t the hair, Cat,” Lambert wraps his hand over the outline of Aiden’s cock, squeezing down.

“What was it, then?” There’s a vulnerability in Aiden’s voice that is hard to place. Like there might be a wrong answer and a right answer to Aiden’s question. And Lambert has no fucking idea what he’s supposed to say. Other than the idea of Aiden wanting someone other than Lambert more sort of makes his blood boil.

Lambert swallows hard, “Sure, keep thinking it was the hair.”


	5. Bed frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This makes more sense if you're also reading kittybenzedrine's Lambert/Aiden stuff but anyway, it's his birthday and also I got really struck by this idea.

“I plan on seeing which one gives out first,” Lambert growls, “the bed frame or your ass.” Grabbing Aiden by the hips, he hoists his friend into bed, so he's lying sideways across the mattress.

Aiden laughs bright and clear, throwing his head back against the sheets. His dark hair fans out against the dinged whites. They're not careful enough with their laundry to keep things looking new.

“Alright then, Wolf,” Aiden teases, biting his own tongue. 

Lambert sort of hates the nickname, because people at his agency call Geralt that too. It's only Aiden who calls Lambert “Wolf,” insisting that since he knew Lambert long before he ever met Geralt, he's not about to change terms of endearment. But, Lambert’s got to admit, with Aiden bare-chested in their bed, the yellow of the overhead lighting fixture making his skin look ever warmer than usual, Lambert doesn't have the resolve to object to whatever the fuck Aiden wants to call him.

He shoves his pants down to his ankles, taking his boxers with them. On the bed, Aiden shimmies out of what remains of his clothes too, spreading his thighs unabashedly and coaxing Lambert to get started. “The neighbors are going to hate us.”

“They already do,” Lambert points out, crawling on top of Aiden and pressing him down against the mattress. Their cocks rub up against each other, as Lambert grinds down, taking Aiden's mouth and kissing him until they're both breathless. Aiden isn't anything, if he’s not a cheat, so he wastes no time wrapping his legs tight around Lambert’s waist, a precursor of what's sure to come.

Lambert could be happy just like this too, keeping their bodies so close together that it gets kind of fuzzy which sweat-slick section of skin belongs to who, shoving his tongue inelegantly into Aiden’s mouth. They've never been hung up much on being gentle.

Grabbing the backs of Aiden’s thighs, Lambert tries to pull Aiden off of him, so he can at least maneuver a little bit. But fuck Aiden and his fucking flexibility, because Lambert manages to fold him almost in half without really trying. And the grin Aiden is giving him makes him certain that it was absolutely on purpose. 

“You’re such a shit,” Lambert curses, trying to reach over into the bedside table. 

Aiden’s got some weird shit in there. Stuff that he's never actually used on Lambert. And Lambert isn't sure if he's using that stuff on himself when Lambert’s not home or what. Maybe it's just in there to give Lambert ideas or whatever. But while he tries not to object to anything Aiden asks for, attempting anything at least once, Lambert can concede that he's not...creative. He's happy enough to suck Aiden’s dick or let Aiden fuck his ass or fuck Aiden’s ass and maybe they bite each other up a bit. And maybe, maybe Lambert likes it when Aiden pins him down, even though Lambert has enough mass on him to throw him off, if he really wanted. And maybe he really knows how Aiden likes getting his ass slapped, particularly when Lambert is fucking him from behind. But Lambert’s not going to pretend like any of these things were his idea.

Lambert fishes out the bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside drawer, ignoring the minefield of more adventurous toys. Aiden can't sit still, and keeps wiggling his ass on the bed while Lambert spreads lube on his fingers. 

“If you take any longer,” Aiden rolls from his back onto his stomach in one graceful sweep, coming up on his hands and knees and practically sticking his ass in Lambert’s face, “I'll go downstairs and fuck the neighbors instead,” Aiden taunts.

Lambert snickers, knowing full well that Aiden might try it, but only as a joke. Everyone in the building loves Aiden. Just adores him, and even though they've lived here for years, they still think Lambert is some sort of interloper, doing unspeakable things to sweet little Aiden. Never mind that they're practically the same height and Aiden is four years older. Somehow he fucking manages to look at least five years younger than Lambert.

Spearing Aiden with one finger, Lambert knows exactly how hard and deep he can go on the first stroke. They've done this enough that Lambert runs on autopilot, squeezing his own dick in his opposite hand as he fingers Aiden open. Right away there are these noises, these fucking noises that Aiden always makes, deep and longing and somehow entirely too needy. Makes Lambert feel like they never have enough time. Like something is gonna come along and swallow the both of them up. 

It's just a strange, primal fear that Lambert doesn't even know what to do with it. He would say that it's residual, from that contract that took Aiden’s eye, and almost took his life. But this curling, lingering worry he feels far predates the knife that went through Aiden’s socket.

Once Aiden is good and stretched, Lambert passes him the condom to tear open. Lambert always has trouble with it, if his hands are already slick. And Aiden gets mad at him if he uses his teeth.

Flopping onto his back, Aiden rips open the package and hands the condom back to Lambert, leaving him to roll it on himself. Aiden rearranges himself on the bed, making sure there's actually enough room for Lambert to fit too. 

Lambert hasn't told Aiden yet, but the frame he ordered in a king, instead of the double they currently have. He's ordered a new mattress and boxspring too. It's gonna take up the whole fucking bedroom, but it'll be worth it. Shipping notice says it comes tomorrow before four.

Aiden grabs the headboard, arching his back in a way that is utterly obscene. Lining up behind him, Lambert grabs Aiden’s hip in one hand, one asscheek in the other to spread him open. Aiden reaches back to help guide Lambert’s cock in, before returning his hand to the headboard.

“That's it, that's it,” Aiden pants, “Fuck, give it to me, all the way in. You fucking bastard. Fuck I hate your prick,” Lambert knows by now that Aiden won't shut the fuck up until after he's come. ‘Quiet’ isn't in his vocabulary. 

He starts out slow and steady, giving Aiden a little time to adjust to the thickness of his cock. But once it doesn't feel like Aiden’s ass is trying to strangle him through his dick, Lambert wraps his hand in Aiden’s too-long hair and starts pounding in.

True to his word, Lambert makes sure the whole fucking bed frame shakes, driving into Aiden who won't stop cursing, and saying half-untrue things about the size of Lambert’s dick and entirely-true things about how he loves/hates it.

At some point Lambert starts to worry he's going to crack Aiden’s face open before the bed frame gives. So he pulls out and tries to flip Aiden onto his back. But Aiden isn't fucking having it, clawing into Lambert’s side and practically growling for Lambert to get on his back instead.

Lambert’s first instinct is to comply and just do what Aiden wants. But on second thought, he wants to fight Aiden for it. After all, Lambert was the one who promised to render the bed totally unusable, and he intends to follow through.

They grapple in the sheets, trying to fight each other off. What Aiden lacks in brute strength, he makes up for with dirty tricks, tickling Aiden’s sides and almost screaming with laughter when Lambert attempts to grab his wrists and fails. 

Somehow, Aiden manages to squirm out from underneath Lambert. Grabbing Lambert by the shoulder, Aiden tries to get enough leverage to throw Lambert onto his back. But as Lambert tumbles over, one of the legs of the frame finally gives up the ghost, the wood cracking audibly, over the sound of Lambert telling Aiden to fuck off and stop trying to climb on top of him. The whole bed jerks, crashing down onto the floor, settling with the foot of the bed higher up in the air then the head.

Aiden exclaims, “We did it!” and Lambert can't bring himself to complain that this wasn't what he had in mind.

The angle of the bed is too precarious now for them to finish. And Lambert’s pretty sure the condom ripped. He takes it off, puts on another, while Aiden makes a nest of blankets on the bedroom floor.

After breaking the bed, Aiden behaves a little. And Lambert concedes too, laying on his back in the pile of blankets so Aiden can crawl all over him. It's maybe a little selfish, because Lambert’s knees feel like shit.

Aiden rides him, slow and easy, but still with all the urgency they had before. He looks so fucking good like that, fucked up eye and scars and all. Leaves Lambert fucking breathless in a way he's never been able to articulate with words. But when Aiden puts his hand on Lambert’s chest, Lambert can't help but stroke his index and middle finger around the silver band around Aiden’s finger. The one that proves that even though he still introduces Aiden as his ‘friend’ out of habit, they're something more.

Aiden comes across Lambert’s stomach, his breath ragged and groaning Lambert’s name. And Lambert comes in the condom because cleanup is easier that way, and Aiden taught him the hard way that cleaning come out of one’s own ass is a special circle of hell, after Lambert kept insisting they try it bare. But after, after they're curled up against each other, the rhythm of their breathing falls into sync.

“Hey,” Lambert says.

“Hey.”

“I have a question.”

“You always do,” they've turned off the lights, but Lambert can still hear the smile in Aiden’s voice.

“You know, the other day, when we were talking about other lives?”

“We were talking about other jobs,” Aiden pulls at one of the sheets, until it's covering both of their heads, trapping heat inside. “How maybe it's time to get out of bounty hunting.”

“Same thing.”

“So, was that your question?” Aiden’s back to being a smart ass. One of the many things Lambert loves about him. Despite how fucking difficult he can be.

“No, I mean, do you think there's some truth in it? I don't know, that maybe we do have other lives, in other universes, and maybe, we know, we’re together there too?”

Aiden hums against Lambert’s throat, thinking before he answers, “I don't know if anything in our world could keep me from you. So, yeah, I guess, we’d still be together. Yeah.”

Somehow, that manages to loosen the knot in Lambert’s chest.


	6. “Stay with me tonight?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found a list of angst prompts. and felt like suffering.

All that's really left of the shack out in the woods are some rotting floorboards, four walls in decent shape, and a thatch roof with six-too-many holes. 

But there are wraiths outside, vicious ladies who have been tracking them for the last mile. Lambert has never seen a wraith with such a wide territory. Much less three of them. Something is very, very wrong. And it's their job to figure out what.

Aiden throws his pack onto the ground, unceremoniously sitting down on top of it to keep his ass off of the moist floor. There must be water coming up from down below, or something, for the ground to be so wet.

Casting Igni in the direction of the fireplace, Aiden apparently doesn't give two shits about the integrity of the house. He doesn’t even bother checking if the fireplace is well enough intact to keep them from going up in flames. But Lambert can't make himself complain, because the warmth and light is nice. And the crackling does at least a little to drown out the wraith’s wails outside. 

“Keep an eye on the roof,” Aiden says, pulling a stack of books out from under his ass. He’d swiped them from the abandoned village the wraiths were said to haunt, before they got chased out. 

While Aiden reads by firelight, Lambert tries to keep them secure. The fucking wraiths won't lose interest in them, pounding at the door, scratching at the outside walls. Lambert grips his silver sword, already primed and oiled. It's only a matter of time before one gets curious about the roof and slips inside. 

There’s little else Lambert can do, other than hoping that Aiden finds what they need, and quickly.

As the wraiths get louder, Aiden starts reading out loud to himself, repeating every fucking word in that useless fucking book. And Lambert is on edge enough to yell at him to keep it the fuck down.

Aiden starts at Lambert’s yelling, hissing back that he can't fucking read with all that noise. They're both at their wits’ end. And if something doesn't change, they’ll be at each other’s throats. 

There’s a wailing from above and both of them move, Aiden tossing the book aside and reaching for silver from his back. The wraith claws her way through the already decimated ceiling.

Bursting through the thatch roof, she sets her sights on Aiden, swooping in with her claws extended. Aiden rolls to his left at the last second, leaving the wraith to crash against the wall. She screams bloody fucking murder. But Lambert doesn't have time to attack, because her two friends are bleeding through the roof.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Lambert screams. And at the moment, he's equally mad at Aiden and the wraiths. He wanted to fight them out in the open, where they would have room to maneuver. Even if they couldn't yet break the curse for good, that would give Lambert and Aiden an hour or two before the monsters reappeared. But Aiden insisted they just keep running.

Focusing on the two wraiths in front of him, Lambert kicks open the shack door. He slashes against the chest of one of them, just enough to get her attention and bait her out of the house. When the final wraith turns away from him, Lambert almost leaves her to attack Aiden from behind. Would serve him fucking right. But he can't do it. And Lambert pushes back into the house just long enough to poke her in the back and make sure she follows too.

What follows is more than a mess. It's a disaster. He's trying to hold the attention of two wraiths at once, throwing down Yrden signs to corral them, try to get any advantage he can. They're hard to hit and loud and the fucking worst.

And Aiden is still inside the house, doing fuck knows what with the other wraith. All Lambert can hear is a lot of crashing and cursing and if Aiden gets himself killed Lambert is going to find a fucking necromancer. Have him raised from the dead. And kill him again.

The front of his chest piece ends up dented, when the wraith phases into a more solid form and hits him full force in the chest. The dent is so deep it hurts to breathe, Lambert’s chest pressing against hard metal, his ribcage can’t expand.

Pulling up his sword, he gets ready to lunge again, breathing or not, he has to fight. But as he dashes forward, both wraiths scream in unison, before he even touches them.

And they’re gone. What the fuck.

“Aiden?” he calls out, running towards the shack.

Aiden huddles in the corner, tucked in against the wall. He’s shaking all over, blood streaming down one arm where his bracer has been torn away. With his other hand, he reaches for his belt, trying to pull the vial of Swallow. But his fingers are too bloody-slick, and he drops the bottle.

“Fuck.” 

He’s clearly lost a lot of blood already. But whatever impulsive idea he may have had seems to have killed off the wraiths. Lambert isn’t sure if whatever happened was a permanent solution or not. Right now, all he can worry about is getting Aiden to drink down his potion.

“Good,” Lambert praises as Aiden finally gets the Swallow past his lips. 

Lambert takes off his chestplate and maneuvers Aiden’s still-shaking body so he leans against him. Wrapping his arms around Aiden’s waist, Lambert tries to keep him warm. Blood loss is a bitch, but Aiden should recover quickly.

Aiden lolls his head back against Lambert’s shoulder, trying to find his eyes. He clearly doesn’t have his wits about him. And Lambert isn’t even sure he recognizes him. What the fuck did he even do? 

“Stay with me tonight?” Aiden shivers, clinging onto Lambert’s arms. The bleeding has slowed, but hasn’t stopped yet.

Where would he even go? They always sleep close together, when they manage to see each other. Lambert is far past the point of being coy about it. And even though they have to be discrete, they always find a way. Today is easy, not a soul around. 

“We always leave,” Aiden babbles, “I know that’s just the way things are, but,” his voice starts to slur, “I miss you. I always miss you.”

And Lambert realizes that Aiden wants to ask for more. But they never can. The truth is too painful, they can only sustain themselves on half-measures. Shitty shacks with monsters clawing at their doors. Fake marriage bands worn with real affection.

“Try and get some rest,” Lambert does his best to soothe.


	7. "Don't talk, save your strength"

“Don't talk!” Aiden yells from somewhere up above, “Save your strength!”

When Lambert opens his mouth to speak, blood rushes out between his parted lips. Aiden is lucky. Lambert had a hell of a comeback. He's pretty sure. Fuck if he remembers it now. Fuck.

Aiden had been up ahead, in pursuit of the monster they were tailing. Still didn't know what the fuck it was. Details from the village were too vague, and there wasn't enough in the nest to make a clear determination. But Aiden saw movement out of the corner of his eye while they were investigating and bolted after the creature. 

Lambert trailed behind. In an open field, maybe Lambert could keep pace, but through the densely packed woodlands, Aiden maneuvered through the open gaps in a way Lambert will never be able to emulate.

In the rush to keep up, Lambert had misstepped, a branch breaking beneath his foot and sending him tumbling into the ravine below. At first, Aiden cackled from up above. But when Lambert shifted his head, Aiden gasped.

Now Lambert knows why.

He tries to stand, finding himself too dizzy to keep himself steady. He falls back against the rock behind him. Opening his eyes, he pulls his hand in front of his face. Covered in blood. Of course. Of fucking course. He's managed to split his skull. Again.

He's not sure why Aiden is so upset. It's nothing a potion and time won't fix. Lambert has done worse to himself a dozen times before, under more precarious circumstances. 

Getting the Swallow down, he lets himself rest against the ground. Twenty minutes at most, and he’ll be back on his feet.

Aiden comes skidding down the wall of the ravine, somewhere to the west of where Lambert lies, where the incline isn't as steep. Lambert can hear his boots as he runs towards Lambert, his breathing heavy and pulse quick. 

“You're such a drama queen,” Lambert says. He can still taste copper in his mouth. 

Aiden curses, “You dumb shit.” And sits down next to him to wait. 

They're quiet for a good long while. Because honestly, Lambert feels a little worn out. He’ll need a bath too, to get the blood out of his hair. Head wounds are the worst. 

Beside him, Aiden starts to calm down, his heart rate evening out. The way he's going, Aiden’s going to die from stress before any monster gets him. And Lambert knows that's partially his fault. 

“Maybe we should stop taking contracts together,” Lambert says, not thinking through the consequences.

Aiden bites, “Don't say that, you piece of shit.”

They both know it's true, though. What they've been doing is highly unusual. Two Witchers working the same contracts? And not even big kills all the time. Just excuses to do something together. But it's not like Lambert is saying they should end their relationship. He doesn't want that. But he can't have Aiden losing sight of a mark because he fell. And Lambert can't fuck up because he's worried Aiden’s not good enough with a sword. 

“We can still be...what we are...just, the contracts, Aiden. One of us is going to get hurt.” There's something more to it too, “Someone is going to get wise to us.”

It's the wrong thing to say, because Aiden snaps. “Do you think I don't know?” he seethes. “Fuck, fuck!” He stands up, stalking away and pulling at his own hair. “I don't know how to be any different, Lambert. I don't know how to make this work.”

Lambert doesn't know either. But the Swallow is starting to take effect. Once he finds his feet, Lambert takes careful steps towards Aiden. He's quiet now, but still shaking with rage. Lambert rests his hand against Aiden’s shoulder, waiting for this storm to pass. They’ll figure something out.


	8. “Hey, I got you, it’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a semi-explicit consensual m/f scene in this, that can be interpreted as infidelity (but it's really more about the fact boundaries haven't been set). Lambert is unsure and uneasy, but ultimately consenting. The woman is entirely consenting. There are also references to canon-standard homophobia

Lambert spends the winter in Kaer Morhen. He always spends the winter in Kaer Morhen. Aiden spends the winter...somewhere. Novigrad, maybe, where the rents the attic room. But the city is becoming increasingly dangerous for nonhumans. And Aiden lives in the thick of it, in a house with at least a dozen elves in the rooms below. Even if he weren't a Witcher, Aiden stands out in a crowd, a hooded cloak and soft leather gloves can only hide so much.

So Lambert cannot help but worry.

He stalks the halls of the keep like a caged animal, driving the others up the wall with his restless impatience. Eskel asks him what the fuck is his problem, and Lambert bites back, “your smell, you fucking reek,” unwilling to concede any more than that.

Vesemir takes him aside later, pulls out that father-knows-best tone that rarely works on Lambert. Because Lambert has never had a father he wants to listen to. Even Vesemir, who fucking tries his heart out. Game was rigged against him from the start. 

“You don't need to talk about it,” Vesemir says, “but you need to figure out how to deal with it.”

Lambert shows him his teeth, seething that everything is fine. 

Of course, it's not.

Because he asked, he fucking asked Aiden to come with him, safe and away from prying eyes. Fuck, the others wouldn't even care if they shared a bed. They're Witchers, they've fucked things far more scandalous than their best mates.

But Aiden, Aiden just laughed at him, saying a Cat would never be allowed into Kaer Morhen alive. And he doesn't want to waste one of his lives just for the chance to keep Lambert warm through the winter months. 

Lambert couldn't convince him otherwise. Arguing that there weren’t that many of them left anyhow. 

“You know why that is, don't you, Wolf?” Aiden had shown his teeth. Sharp, dangerous. “One of your brothers was there. He’ll tell you.”

Lambert knows about the Tournament. Knows Geralt was the only one to make it out alive, when the Cats turned on the Wolves. Eskel and Lambert weren't even born yet, much less subjected to the Trails. Plenty of Wolves were made after the massacre. It's not fucking Aiden’s fault they're dead too.

“You weren't there either,” Lambert had guessed. Aiden still won't tell him exactly how old he is. But Lambert doesn't think it's as old as Geralt. 

Aiden only smiled, turned his back on Lambert. Conversation over.

Vesemir wants Lambert to handle it. So he handles it by taking a shit-ton of bombs out to the frozen lake. Using his steel sword, he cuts a hole into the ice, first stabbing at the smooth surface out of pure frustration, but as his anger starts to cool, he makes more precise strikes to widen the opening.

Once he’s got a hole that is big enough, he heads back to the sack of explosives. Now he’s mad all over again, because he told Aiden they would ‘fish’ together. Aiden smiled at him at the time, said that sounded fun.

Lambert lights the bomb and tosses it into the lake, hurrying away before the ice shoots in every direction like shrapnel. The boom of the grapeshot underwater is satisfying. So is the thin mist of ice cold water that sprays in Lambert’s face.

The hole in the lake is big now. Big enough to toss Eskel in. All Lambert needs is a way to lure him out. But instead, Lambert tosses in more bombs, watching the water spray and fish splash to the surface. After the last one has gone off, he walks precariously around the rim of the hole he’s made, picking up the fish that still look edible. Sure, his little expedition has been immature, but that doesn’t mean food has to go to waste.

\--

Lambert doesn’t see Aiden again in the spring. He has no idea where the fuck he is. 

In high summer, Lambert finds himself in a run-down village, barely two rocks to rub together. But they want a Witcher they can’t afford. Offering too little coin for too much work. When Lambert scoffs at the pay, the baker’s daughter offers herself as part of the deal. He doesn’t point out that he could have her anyway. She’s been watching him like a hawk since he arrived. 

He takes the contract. Because sometimes you just do things out of the goodness of your heart. Doesn’t expect to collect on the woman’s offer, but she drags him away by the wrist once he has the crowns in pocket. 

Her parents aren’t home, she assures him. And she’s twenty in the fall. Old enough to decide who she wants to fuck and when. Lambert bites his tongue, not pointing out he might actually be old enough to be her father’s-father. 

Lambert doesn’t move, as her hands, flour-soft and nails neatly trimmed, start to undo the clasps of his armor, finding every knot and buckle. 

He thinks about telling her no. But why? Why tell her no? She’s got great tits and a tiny waist and she smiles at him when he touches her, finally, pushing down the shoulder of her dress. 

They don’t kiss. And Lambert is thankful enough for that. She’s warm and soft and wet, parting her thighs and rubbing at her own clit as he fucks into her. She whispers in his ear that she’s heard all about Witchers, and it’s okay if he comes inside. 

Afterwards, he just wants to get out. And, mercifully, she doesn’t seem to want anything more from him. Maybe just the story. Or maybe she just likes sex. In either case, she looks well satisfied, pulling back on her dress and saying if he’s ever in the area again, she wouldn’t mind another ride. 

\--

Aiden finally surfaces in the fall. He has a new scar, one that starts at his collar bone, cutting vertically down to his hip. “Claws,” he says. As if Lambert can’t tell the difference from a blade. Someone, a person, did that to him. 

They have drinks. Aiden says he’s already found a place to stay. Abandoned little stone ruin just up the road. Already cleared out the pests. And no monsters. Nice and quiet. 

When they get there, Lambert curses, asking if Aiden expects him to sleep on the stone floor in the entryway of the elven ruin. Because the door leading down below is still shut tight. 

“No, I don’t expect you to get much sleep at all,” he purrs, hand palming Lambert’s cock through his trousers. “Hoping that you’d fuck me so hard I scream myself hoarse. Can’t exactly do that in a nice tavern bed.”

And Lambert doesn’t know what else to do but tell him. About the girl months ago. Because they haven’t talked about this. What they are to each other. The fact that Lambert wants to take him _home_ where he’ll be _safe_. That it’s been four years already of chance meetings and shitty hideouts. Tavern rooms where Aiden stifles his voice, and the little attic closet with children playing down below. Lambert knows Aiden likes the noise. Aiden is like him. Wanting things they can’t have. 

“Hey, I got you,” Aiden whispers, “It’s okay.” He cradles Lambert’s neck. Lambert didn’t even know he was crying. Fuck. “I’m not...going to tell you that you can’t fuck other people. If that’s not what you want.”

“What do _you_ want?” Lambert stresses. Because this isn’t about just him anymore. 

Aiden smiles in that way Lambert hates, the one where he’s not really smiling. “I don’t exactly get the same...opportunities that you do.”

“But if you did,” Lambert knows the question is callous. “If it were safe for you, would you do it?”

They go back and forth after that. Neither one of them willing to make the first concession. Stringing out elaborate fantasy worlds where Aiden could approach men without fear. Scenarios where Lambert could have children. One particularly convoluted world where they’re not even Witchers anymore, yet somehow still met each other.

Finally, once they’ve both exhausted the possibilities, Aiden admits defeat, “I only want you.”

Lambert almost cries again out of relief, “I only want you, too.”

He asks Aiden to come to Kaer Morhen again.

This time, at least, Aiden has the decency to say “no” directly.


	9. vine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern au

“You don’t understand,” Lambert hisses, “shutting down Vine is like...the destruction of the Library of Alexandria. All of that knowledge, that art, that culture, gone!” Lambert throws up his hands, his phone still clutched in one. 

“I didn’t realize you were so big on ‘culture,’” Aiden teases. Honestly, for someone who spends way too much time watching HGTV and can sit through multiple infomercials in a row, Lambert sure has a strange idea of what constitutes culture.

But Lambert nods solemnly, his face drawn and serious. Aiden wants to exclaim that he looks way too cute for his own good and kiss him senseless. But he holds back because, apparently, there’s another rant incoming. 

“More than that, when you really think about it, the formal aspects of Vine production led to creators pushing the boundaries of the time limit. Their editing, the rhythm of the punchline, all of it constrained into six seconds. But instead of stifling creativity, we ended up with all these really beautiful, fleeting moments that really encapsulate this feeling…”

Aiden just stares. Because he has no idea who this man is, and what he did with his boyfriend. “The fuck?”

Lambert turns this perfect shade of pink before scowling. Like he’s just revealed this hidden part of himself and is trying to shove it away again. Aiden is already sorry that he reacted callously. But Lambert’s outburst was just so surprising. 

“I took AP Art History in high school,” Lambert says by way of explanation. “It’s just some fucking bullshit.”

Aiden knows, he fucking knows he’s hit a sore spot. Lambert is smart. He did great in school, when he was interested in the material. But he doesn’t talk about it much. Because there was never going to be a chance at college. Aiden took his GED when he was 17 and never looked back. College wasn’t in the cards for him either. But he doesn’t regret the way that Lambert does. 

Lambert...it didn’t matter how good his grades were, or how much the government teacher from 11th grade liked him. His parents couldn’t pay, but more than that, his father didn’t fucking care and his mom was too scared to even bring the topic up. And Lambert, for all his intelligence, is a path-of-least-resistance guy. Oh, he’ll complain when he thinks that path is the wrong one, but he’ll still take it. 

So later on, when Lambert catches Aiden in one of his insomnia episodes, kept awake by his past that Lambert can’t relate to, and watching a twenty-eight minute long compilation of six-second clips, they both know this isn’t really about shitty, brilliant jokes.


	10. "I'll be right here, don't worry"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU again. I promise the next two of these are canon universe

/I need your help with something/ Aiden texts.

/what?/ Lambert replies. 

Lambert hasn't left the office today. Instead, he's helping Geralt on his lead, cross referencing about ten different Jennifer Sullivans to find the right one. She skipped two weeks ago and no one has seen her since. They have an address, but it's a fake. House is occupied by a Thai couple who have been getting Jennifer’s mail, but otherwise don't know anything about her.

/I need you to come with me to this place/  
/tonight/

/what kind of place?/

Aiden likes to spring things on him, make it a surprise. And even though a lot of these surprises have been pretty benign, Lambert keeps waiting for some terrible scenario where Aiden rips the rug out from under him. They've been living together for two months now, and things are going good. But Lambert can't help but think that something is going to go wrong. He's too fucking happy.

/we can talk about it tonight/

Well, that's fucking ominous.

\--

By the time Lambert gets home, Aiden is already there, sitting cross legged on the couch and chewing messily at his lower lip, half of it pulled into his mouth as he tears away strips of flaky skin. Lambert has told him dozens of times to stop. But he never does.

“Where is it you want to go?”

“Okay, okay,” Aiden starts, “maybe you should sit down?”

Lambert fucking hates the sound of that, but he sits across the couch from Aiden. Because what the fuck else is he going to do?

“I have to go see my ex...and I want you to come with me.”

That doesn't sound so difficult. Though Lambert knows fuck-all about Aiden’s ex. He knows in an abstract way Gaetan exists. And he assumes the breakup was messy. But beyond that, nothing. 

“Why?” Lambert asks, wanting to know what he's getting into. But if this is important to Aiden, he’ll go.

“He has some files for me,” Aiden huffs, “for the contract I'm working. And the asshole insists I get them in person. He won't just send the digital copies. Which means he wants something else. I don't know what.” He bites at his lip again, this time clearly drawing blood. “Okay, sorry, that's a lie. I totally know. He wants to fuck. He's done this before, since we broke up, and usually I just go with it because the sex was definitely not on the list of reasons why we ended it. But obviously I'm not going to have sex with him now and his temper is very much on the list of reasons why we ended it and I'd rather not go alone.”

Somewhere in the wall of words, Lambert manages to catch what he thinks might be important. “Aiden…” he doesn't know how to do this without being patronizing. But at the same time, his concern is too palpable to let this go. “Did Gaetan hurt you?”

Aiden shoves both his hands between his legs, sitting up very straight and raising his chin, “He never hit me out of anger, if that's what you're asking. And it's not like I don't have a temper too. And I can fight back,” it's just a list of excuses.

“Did he hurt you?” Lambert is going to fucking skin Gaetan alive if the answer is anything but an unequivocal ‘no.’

But then he realizes that's probably the last thing Aiden wants right now. To think that his current boyfriend is going to punch his ex-boyfriend in the face. When he clearly, at least partially, broke up with said ex for having anger issues.

“Yes, but not the way you're worried about. But that doesn't stop me from worrying that he might try to hurt me now.”

“Okay,” Lambert takes a deep breath. “Okay, we can go when you're ready.”

Aiden asks Lambert to drive and they're quiet on the trip over. Quiet too when Aiden unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of Violet.

Lambert manages to say, “I'll be right here, don't worry,” as they walk to Gaetan’s door.

Predictably, Gaetan doesn't have the files in hand, and he twitches nervously when he sees Lambert at Aiden’s side. 

“Oh,” Gaetan says flatly, “I guess you're Lambert?”

Lambert resists the urge to grab hold of Aiden, wrench him back and put himself between Gaetan and him. It's some stupid, possessive bullshit right there. And it's not like Aiden needs protection, just support. 

“The files, Gaetan,” Aiden says, looking his ex dead in the eyes.

Gaetan’s nostrils flare, and Lambert can just make out the gnashing of his teeth. This guy really thought he could get Aiden into bed, even after being told he has a new boyfriend.

“Fine,” Gaetan disappears inside the house for several minutes, before reappearing with a thick manilla envelope. “The intel for your contract.”

“Next time, just send the digital copies,” Aiden says, turning to head back to the car.


	11. "I think we're done"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's some briefly described anal sex in this

“I think we’re done,” Aiden whispers, his face still half-buried in the pillow. The sheets smell like someone else’s body.

They're holed up in a little cave that's been properly carved out and furnished as a long-term hideout. One that, until this afternoon, was occupied by a small team of bandits. They’d been working out of the space for years, terrifying the nearby settlement, and the farmsteads to the north. Lambert and Aiden (well, mostly Aiden) convinced them to leave with some clever arguments. And tomorrow, Lambert and Aiden will go to collect their coin. But, it would be a shame to waste a comfortable, secluded bed, far from, prying eyes.

So Lambert spent the last half hour slowly grinding into Aiden from behind, trying to make it last. A luxury they seldom get. Aiden laid flat on his stomach, Lambert’s thighs pinned tight on either side of Aiden’s body as he fucked into him. Aiden, who kept whining out these fucking noises that shot straight to that possessive, awful part of Lambert’s brain. The part that wants to mark and bite and tell Aiden he’ll never get dick this good anywhere else. And Lambert is never going to fucking let him go.

But Lambert never says any of that shit out loud. Because Aiden wouldn't take it well. Fuck, under any other set of conditions, Lambert wouldn't take it well. He only ever feels this kind of way when emotions are riding high. Like when he's buried deep inside his husband’s perfect ass, listening to keening cries that are sweeter than any promises either of them could keep.

But now, Aiden says they're done.

“What the fuck?” Lambert replies, “is this because I came in your ass? You said I could! I asked!” He had asked, held out until Aiden panted, ‘yes.’

Aiden rolls from his stomach onto his back, legs still slightly parted, probably sore. He’s wet between them with lube and Lambert’s come. “Lambert...what are we doing?”

A sort of panic grips Lambert’s throat. It doesn't matter how many times they have this same argument. And, oh, they've had it before. Sometimes Aiden starts it, sometimes it him. Sometimes they both think it's about time to hash things out again. Over the ten fucking years they've been together, they've had this conversation dozens of times.

And each and every time, Lambert genuinely worries it will be their last argument. That this is the day it actually ends for them.

“We were having some good sex, I was planning on falling asleep next to you. Catch some rest before we head back to the village for that sweet ass purse. Figured it would be nice to hold you for awhile?” 

“Lambert...that's not what I mean.”

“I know what the fuck you mean,” Lambert says. He crawls back on top of Aiden, grabbing his wrists and pinning them on either side of Aiden’s stupid handsome face. Even with one mutated eye, he’s too obnoxiously good-looking. Sometimes Aiden tries to run away when it gets like this. But Lambert isn't letting him go anywhere this time. “We’re not done.”

“You're not happy, this isn't what you want…”

“You think you know better than I do what I want?”

Aiden laughs with tightly bubbling mania, “You want a homestead and a pretty wife and sweet little babe. You want warm winters by the fire and balmy summers in the wheat fields. You want normalcy and routine. Lambert, Lambert, Lambert, you want all the good, honest things in this world. And I can't give them to you.”

“You asshole,” Lambert kisses Aiden's neck. “If you didn't notice. I'm a fucking _Witcher_ , and so are you. So before you go off on some bullshit. Remember that neither one of us gets to be fucking _normal._ ”

“But you could pretend, get closer to the life you want. Who could stop you, really?”

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Aiden. I want you. You're right, I want things I don't get to have. But I only want the house, the fireplace, the field, the child, with _you_.”

Aiden is slack-jawed and quiet after that and Lambert kisses him before he can get some other misguided rebuttal off the ground.


	12. "Hey, hold my hand"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briefly described oral, some age difference stuff, canon standard homophobia (some of it internalized) and racism (again, brief)

Aiden is fifteen, when he knows. 

And he doesn’t know any better. Because though he’s been through the Trials, he hasn’t been along the Path. Kiyan has taken him out in the Spring before, but for a few weeks at a time, and always home by summer. Just enough to get a taste of the world outside. It’s important, Kiyan says, that Aiden in particular sees some of the surrounding realms, before he’s let loose on his own. He was so young when he came to the Cats, with so few memories of anything but the School. 

And they’re a long way from Ofier, is the unspoken continuation of that same thought. He has to learn that the North is not kind to Witchers and “foreigners.” 

After fifteen Aiden amends the statement: Witchers, foreigners, and queers. 

Because Aiden kisses Sute in the gardens, because he feels the right thing to do. And Sute doesn’t really mind, but he doesn’t think he feels the same about Aiden. That’s alright, though. Aiden won’t ever hold it against Sute, who has been his best friend since they were babies. But one of the older Witchers sees, and pulls Aiden aside. 

“You must be careful, child,” he says. And Aiden resents him already because at fifteen, he already thinks he’s grown. “There are those who will harm you for who you are.”

Because Aiden has heard this tale before, about being a Witcher, about being Ofirei, about having elfin features, he just adds it to the laundry list of why he’ll always be hated, in this strange land that is his only home, and yet to which he can never belong. 

\--

Aiden is eighteen, when he knows Gaetan wants him. 

Gaetan is ten years older, still a novice on the Path, but old enough that Aiden admires him. Even though he bore witness to Gaetan’s explosive teenaged years. Aiden had been small then, and they had made him and Sute watch, as older Witchers meted out punishment for Geatan’s outbursts. 

In the Spring, Aiden will leave this place, take his first contract as an adult, find his own way. But in this last Winter, before the thaw, he understands why Gaetan watches him. 

Gaetan comes to his room at night, working the lock to Aiden’s door open with practiced fingers. If Aiden had known it would be tonight, he would have left it unlocked. Though Gaetan is quiet, Aiden hears everything, the quiet press of his feet against the stone floor, the gentle click of the lock. The shuffling to Aiden’s bedside. 

“Up,” Gaetan whispers, so quietly no human could hear. 

Aiden sits up in bed, his eyes adjusting to the light, until he can see everything. Gaetan standing tall at his bedside, his soft sleeping trousers already tented in the front. 

“You get on your knees,” Gaetan tells him, in a voice that is not unkind. They switch positions, so Gaetan sits at the edge of Aiden’s bed, with Aiden on the floor between his thighs. He sucks Gaetan with a messy, dangerous inexperience. Gaetan keeps hissing to watch his fucking teeth. 

Once finished, Gaetan tells Aiden, if he can go for women, he should. It’s safer, easier. 

Aiden is bold enough to ask Gaetan if that’s what he does. 

Gaetan only replies, “I try.”

\--

Aiden is twenty-seven, when he knows he can never return to this village.

He doesn’t even know the name of the place, it doesn’t have one. But he knows his lover’s name is Yves and he’s been a widower since he was twenty-two. His parents think he should take a second wife. They’ve been telling him this for twelve years now. Never letting up. 

Aiden asks if Yves loved his wife and he responds, yes of course. She was beautiful and kind. He loved her very much. And their three years together were blissfully happy. He tells Aiden all of this as they lie together in bed, warm and content. Aiden can still feel the grip of Yves’ hole around his cock like a phantom touch. This is their third encounter in six months. And Aiden decides then that it will be their last. 

\--

Aiden is forty-nine, when he knows he’ll never be the same.

Because he meets Lambert, Lambert, Lambert, with puffy cheeks and already-receding hair. Lines around his eyes and blood on his blade. Lambert who never met an expletive he didn’t like and enjoys nothing more than to come up with new insults to hurl at Aiden with sweet, lingering affection. 

Lambert tells him that his eyes were once blue, he thinks, before they were copper-gold. 

And he aches in a way he never expected, when he spreads kisses over Lambert’s skin. As flesh warms beneath his fingers. Because Lambert feels like home. This brash, abrasive man, who learns all of Aiden’s past transgressions, and doesn’t tell him it’s okay. Lambert doesn’t absolve him. But each and every time, Lambert shrugs his shoulders and says, “You’re not that man anymore.”

Aiden’s still afraid he is. But Lambert makes him want to be better. To be good enough for Lambert’s love (which probably isn’t very good at all. They’ve both killed men, only the circumstances have been different).

Oh, oh, but Aiden aches, when Lambert takes off his gauntlets and he remembers the secrets that they share. 

\--

Aiden is sixty-two, when he knows there's no such thing as forever.

But, fuck, does he want there to be. As he sits at what feels like the edge of the world he knows, staring out upon the place he was born, but has never called home. The ship rocks gently on the tides as they approach the harbor. 

Aiden doesn't know what he expects to find here. In a way, it almost doesn't matter. The whipping sand off the shore gets in his one good eye, and he almost tells Lambert they better head back. If they hurry, maybe they can book passage on a ship bound north departing right away. Even gets his mouth open before Lambert brushes his fingers against the back of Aiden’s knuckles.

“Hey,” Lambert says just beneath his breath, “hold my hand.”

And that's enough to make the world slow down.


	13. "It's all been a lie, hasn't it?"

Lambert finds the ring in Aiden’s saddlebag. Just a thin band of gold, inset with a tiny blue stone. Probably not worth much in trade. A shiny bauble tucked into one of the interior pockets, tied into place with a few loops of thread.

And that's the first warning sign.

It's not strange for Aiden to have jewelry in his bag. Witchers get paid in all sorts of shit. On top of that, Aiden’s got sticky fingers. Lambert has never tried to break him of the habit, though he does his best to glare when he catches his friend in the act. If Aiden is dumb enough to risk getting slaughtered by angry townies over a couple dozen extra crowns, that’s his own fucking problem.

And that also means it's not strange to have women’s jewelry in his bag. And the ring is definitely that of a woman, too small and thin to fit around most men’s thicker fingers. Possibly it could belong to a youth. 

Aiden’s horse huffs, stamping her foot down in the dirt while Lambert lingers at her side.

But the ring.

What’s strange are the loops of thread, holding the band in place. Aiden doesn't want to lose this ring. He wants to make sure it's not knocking around loose somewhere in the depths of his bag while he rides. He wants to know exactly where it is.

Aiden gave him permission to look inside his pack. Lambert is supposed to pull out all the potion reagents, so they can go through their supply together and see what they might need to find or purchase for this contract. So, at first, Lambert doesn't think much about snooping when it comes to the ring.

Until he turns the band, reading the engraving inside. A name. The name of the owner. Lambert knows that name. Because it's the noble girl who turned up dead six days ago. He and Aiden have only been together for the last three.

Tugging sharply, Lambert rips the ring free, the thread easily giving way. It's lead in his palm.

“Aiden,” he says, walking away from the horses and sitting back down next to his friend at the fire. 

Aiden has already sorted Lambert’s reagents into neat piles. Careful to keep the ingredients far enough from the fire that they won't be compromised by the heat, or blow directly into the steady flames at the first gentle breeze.

“Lambert,” he calls back, almost mocking, and hitting the “T” harder than he should. 

“What is this?” Lambert opens his closed fist, showing the ring to Aiden. Waiting through the seconds of silence, Lambert swears he doesn't breathe.

Aiden shakes his head, a lie already curling at the back of his throat, “A ring!”

“Whose ring, Aiden?”

“Mine?” he's not going to fess up. Of course he won't. Because he already knows Lambert is a fool for him. The only question is...how long has Lambert been playing the part?

Lambert takes a shaky breath, staring into the fire just past his feet. He should keep his eyes on Aiden. Be ready for the knife he's sure to take to the gut once Aiden panics. But Lambert isn't really that worried. Because, when it comes to combat, Aiden is the worst fucking Witcher Lambert has ever seen. He just makes up for it with everything else.

“It doesn't fit any of your fingers,” it's a dumb thing to say. But Lambert knows that's true. He's well acquainted with Aiden’s fingers at this point. Pushed past his lips and down his throat as they tease and fight as a prelude to fucking. Laced between his when he holds Aiden down against the ground to rut into him. Shoved up his ass when Aiden works him open. Lambert is pretty fucking sure of the size of all ten of Aiden’s fingers.

“Just because it's mine doesn't mean I wear it. You know that,” Aiden makes to grab the band from Lambert’s hand. But Lambert catches Aiden moving out of the corner of his eye, clamping down his fist before Aiden can get at the ring.

Aiden freezes, his hand still on top of Lambert’s knuckles.

“It's all been a lie,” Lambert muses, “hasn't it?”

Absolutely nothing about Aiden changes. Not his pulse, not his breathing, not his heat or eyes or the gentle way he touches Lambert.

“You never stopped taking contracts on humans…”

Lambert knows now that he's been played all along. Right from the fucking start.

“You killed her,” he turns his hand again, Aiden’s rolling off. Opening his palm, he looks at the ring again. “This is the proof you killed her. For your client.”

Aiden doesn't deny it. He doesn't offer an excuse. Pushing himself up off the ground, Aiden heads back towards the horses.

Lambert doesn't expect to see him again.


	14. "We're out of time"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anal, some oral

“Aiden, you fucking whoreson,” Lambert groans, forcing the pitch of his voice low and dark. Though part of him fucking wants to squeal like a stuck pig, with the way Aiden keeps grinding into him, hips thrusting in slow, shallow bursts before easing up again. Aiden’s hand stays glued to the back of Lambert’s neck. Holding his head down against the mattress. The sheets smell like flowers, burning the inside of Lambert’s nostrils.

“Mmm,” Aiden hums, punctuating with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips. “See what happens if you call me that again.” And he fucking purrs like the Cat he is, dipping his head low and moving his hand. But only so he can bite at the back of Lambert’s neck.

Lambert is maybe just turned on enough to let Lambert mark him up this time. But only where his hair or collar can cover easily.

They only have tonight. Aiden’s booked passage on a ship leaving in the morning, heading north. And Lambert’s bound for Skellige for a couple months before the frosts take hold.

But they have tonight, so they've managed to rent a brothel room. Though it meant renting the girls too and sending them away once the door was unlocked. The older one with dark ringlets and green eyes offered to stay. She’d nothing against it and likes the challenge. Lambert told her to sod off. They're not the sharing type.

Aiden wraps his arms around Lambert's waist, hiking him off the bed and spearing him on his cock. Of all the fucking things, Aiden laughs with glee, tucking his head in against Lambert’s neck and chewing on the inch of flesh that rolls up as Lambert tilts his head.

“If you're going to bite me, just fucking do it,” Lambert growls, wanting it now.

Aiden adjusts again, this time clamping his too-sharp teeth against Lambert’s shoulder. Someplace armor is sure to hide. Bites hard enough to draw blood. Then starts licking it away. Fucking weirdo. And Lambert, fuck him if he's not into it.

Once they're spent, they flop down onto the bed, gaudy, rose-wine colored sheets and all. It's big, big enough to spread out, though Aiden starts wrapping himself around Lambert like a boa anyway. It's nice to actually both fit comfortably, without their feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Or just fucking on the ground of some dank cave. If the have the coin...they should do this more often.

“Come to Kaer Morhen,” Lambert blurts out. He's asked the same of Aiden a hundred times. But he kind of thinks this time, warm and sated by good sex, Aiden might say yes.

Aiden grumbles, “Oh fuck off,” shoving at Lambert and rolling away. He makes a big deal out of standing up and looking for his trousers. Even though he starts pulling them on, Lambert doesn't think for a second he’ll actually leave.

And he doesn't. Dropping his hands to his sides once his belt is buckled. The look on Aiden’s face is utter defeat. His hair tied up in a messy knot, tendrils falling to frame his high cheeks, he looks so, so tired in the low light of the room.

“You want me to say yes,” there's a tremor in Aiden’s voice. “And you don't care what I think.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, settling back against the pillows. Aiden isn't going anywhere. He’s ready to fight. Which is always a good sign. “No,” Lambert argues. “I want you to want to come to Kaer Morhen.”

“You want to let your brothers kill me,” Aiden sneers.

“Noooo,” throwing his arm behind his head, Lambert settles in for the long haul. “I want you to not freeze to fucking death over the winter. I want to know you lived to see the spring. And I want to spend a solid three months fucking you so loudly and with such terrifying frequency that my brothers want to kill us both,” Lambert smiles.

“Is that so?” Aiden climbs back on top of him, straddling Lambert’s hips and running his hands from Lambert’s shoulders, down the center of his bare chest, down to his navel. They both smell of sweat and come and the two liters of dangerously cheap wine they drank straight from the bottles before they started. “Tell me, wolf,” he reaches between Lambert’s legs, starting to fondle his spent cock with both hands, holding Lambert’s balls in one and using the other to play with the head of his cock. “Why should I trust you?”

It's a stupid fucking question. And Lambert has a stupid fucking answer.

“Because I love you.”

The change in Aiden’s breathing is almost imperceptible. An aborted gasp, nothing more. But if he keeps working Lambert in his hands, they’ll need to go another round. And Lambert already has ideas of what he wants this time.

“You’re a better liar every time I see you,” Aiden muses, shifting further down Lambert’s thighs so he can bend over and take his half-hard cock past his lips.

Lambert hisses at the wet heat of Aiden’s mouth. Licking at the underside of Lambert’s cock, Aiden sucks and teases until Lambert is fully hard before pulling off. 

Aiden fights him for it, but it's half-hearted as Lambert wins out, getting Aiden on his back with his thighs spread wide and a pillow shoved under his hips. Wrapping his arms around Lambert’s shoulders, he pulls their mouths close, kissing and licking and biting until Lambert’s lips feel raw and aching. 

In the morning, Aiden wakes first, making enough noise to rouse Lambert from sleep. 

“We’re out of time,” Aiden says, shoving his gloves into his pack. He's not wearing any armor. Probably doesn't expect trouble on the boat.

Lambert wants to scold him, tell Aiden that he should always be ready for a fight. 

Instead, he just shakes his head, “See you in the Spring, I suppose.”

Aiden smiles, coy and insincere, “Maybe sooner.”

There's no fucking way. Aiden’s not coming. But Lambert cannot help but like the lie.


	15. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, no real reason other than this has been sitting in my drafts.

Aiden looks good in a flannel shirt that Lambert is pretty sure he bought for himself and jeans that are fraying around the ankles. He's got his hair tied up high in that stupid topknot and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Yeah, Aiden looks good and he fucking knows it, leaning across the bar to smile at the woman behind the counter. She talks with her hands and Aiden clings to every word.

They're here looking for information on the “Little Prince.” Kid of twenty with a record to put grown mobsters to shame. But daddy keeps bailing him out. Except this last time. Daddy’s had enough and is looking for some professionals to bring his son back. The job’s not legit. But when Aiden came to Lambert with the details and a wad of cash, Lambert wasn't about to say no.

Aiden laughs at the bartender’s jokes as she puts another beer in front of him. Lambert stands around and waits, because Aiden thinks his ‘ugly mug’ makes people nervous.

Aiden must get what he needs, settling the tab and blowing the bartender a kiss. She laughs at him and turns to help another customer.

“Get info on our guy?” Lambert asks, taking the beer from Aiden’s hand when offered and downing a gulp before handing it back.

“Usually in on Friday nights, but missed this week. Told her ahead of time that he had a date.”

Lambert grunts, that's not much of all to go on.

The bar is a standard city haunt. Not the kind of place you'd expect to find a rich man’s son. It doesn't actually have a name, as far as Lambert can tell. Just a sign out front that advertises PBR. Kinda hipster bullshit, popular with the crowd a few years younger than Aiden and Lambert. But they don't stand out too much.

Aiden takes another sip, passes the bottle over to Lambert, but there's so little left in it and probably backwash at that. Lambert drinks it anyway, even though that's probably gross.

“Hey,” Aiden smiles at him, dropping one hand to Lambert's waist and squeezing down, “Nothing more to do right now.” His smile is wicked. “Take me out?”

Lambert snickers, setting the empty beer bottle aside on the nearest empty table, “Yeah, I'll take you out. Sharp enough blow to your jaw and you'll be out cold.”

Aiden rolls his eyes, “You think you're so funny.”

“I am funny,” Lambert argues.

“You would think that. Let's go dancing.”

Lambert snorts, which is totally justifiable and undignified. “I don't dance. You don't dance.”

“By ‘dancing,’” Aiden mimes little quotations in the air with his fingers, “I mean let's go somewhere with stronger drinks and louder music, where I can grind up on your dick in public.”

Lambert assumes in the uneven lighting of the bar, Aiden will miss the warming of his cheeks. He can't just fucking say shit like that. It's not fair. Across from him, Aiden smiles, sticking the barest hint of his tongue past his teeth.

“Admit it,” Aiden coos, “you like the idea.”

Lambert grunts, picking up the empty bottle off the table and putting it to his lips, forgetting that it’s got nothing left.

Aiden slips one of his fingers into Lambert’s belt loop, the long, thin digit rubbing against worn leather. Bastard probably already knows Lambert’s hooked. It's really, really hard to deny Aiden anything. Particularly when he does that unnatural fucking thing with his eyes that makes him look softer, sweeter than he really is.

“Okay, let's go.”

Apparently the place Aiden wants to go is two train stops over. A club that's open until four that he used to haunt when he was younger. When he had the stamina to go out and the inclination to flirt and touch whoever smiled at him just right.

It's not late enough for a crowd, but Aiden orders them shots of rum mixed with sticky soda. Lambert drinks his fast because he doesn't like the taste. Aiden says he doesn't like the taste either, but it's the quickest, cheapest way to get fucking wasted.

“Not like you're poor,” Lambert scoffs, wrapping his arm around Aiden’s waist to keep him close. He'd swear up and down he's not the jealous type. He's not. It just feels right in this moment.

Aiden teases, “but you are.”

“Not,” Lambert rebukes. He's gotten better at not spending his money on dumb shit. Really shaping up to be someone decent. Maybe. Aiden is a better influence than Lambert would care to admit.

One drink turns into three, and Lambert starts to feel the buzz. He leans back against the wall, keeping Aiden’s free hand in his. In the other, Aiden downs his fourth shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as it goes down. The cups here are all clear plastic, and Aiden tosses the empty towards the bin.

“Okay,” Aiden nods over toward the dance floor, filling out but not quite as tightly packed as Lambert assumed it would be. “You owe me that dance.”

“Don't owe you anything, Cat,” Lambert runs both hands up and down Aiden’s sides, feeling out his form through the layer of his flannel. Maybe if he can get Aiden interested enough in other things, they can just go home and fuck in Aiden’s nice, comfortable bed.

Aiden tugs at the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric taut and dragging him to the floor. They stand face to face at first, Aiden grabbing hard at Lambert’s hips, squeezing down until it almost hurts. He breathes heavy against Lambert’s neck, moist air against exposed skin, “You have no sense of foreplay.”

The music is loud enough that Lambert can barely hear Aiden’s taunt. He's not exactly wrong or anything. Lambert has been accused as of much in the past. But he...doesn't really see the point? He doesn't have trouble getting hard for Aiden. He'd have to be fucking blind. And there's never been a time that it takes more than a few quick strokes or Lambert lapping at Aiden’s cock to get him ridiculously hard. So what’s the point of teasing?

The song changes, but Lambert can't tell much of a difference. Still loud and heavy, bordering on dark. There are lyrics he can't parse in a feminine voice. Repetitive and synthetic. He doesn't get how anyone could enjoy the sound.

Aiden turns around and Lambert realizes that the crowd has only grown, pushing them closer together, and strangers closer still. Aiden grabs his hand, directing Lambert to lay it against his stomach, right over the waistband of his jeans. But the flannel is in the way as well.

“You want people to watch us?” Lambert rasps into Aiden’s ear.

Aiden hums, Lambert feeling it more than hearing. He says something, kind of sounds like, “let them watch.”

Shifting his hips, Aiden grinds against him, slow and shallow and not entirely in time with the music. Lambert barely moves until Aiden reaches back to grab his ass, trying to encourage him to at least shift around a little.

Lambert closes his eyes, focusing more on the feeling of Aiden’s ass against his dick. That, that at least is nice. He likes the friction. He likes thinking about his dick in Aiden’s ass, instead of just rutting through layers of jeans.

Aiden’s laughing, reaching back again to grab at the nape of Lambert’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. “See, not so bad?” he almost shouts.

The crowd is so thick now that Lambert can't see the door through the waves of people. The realization makes him draw Aiden closer, pinning his body against Lambert’s chest, one hand still at the front of his jeans and the other wrapped tightly around his torso.

“You like this a lot, don't you?” Lambert asks.

Aiden tugs at him again, this time leading him by the hand through the dancing mass towards the door. The night chill hits them both hard, after the warmth inside the club. Lambert’s ears still ring a little, or maybe it's just that he can still hear the music from inside.

“I like being seen with you,” Aiden smiles, turning away but keeping Lambert firmly by the hand as they head back toward the train station.

Lambert argues, “we go places all the time.”

“I like people knowing we’re together,” Aiden clarifies, “I like them knowing they can't have you.” The admission hits Lambert hard in his chest, like a bat swung at his ribs and connecting with a snap.

“You don't even know those people, though,” Lambert won't pretend to understand. His friends have known about him and Aiden for months now. And they're really the only people whose opinion matter to him. Even if they didn't like Aiden though, and Lambert kind of suspects Vesemir is still unduly cautious about the whole thing, Lambert would just tell them to all go fuck themselves.

They both card through the turnstiles and walk up the stairs to the platform. It's another eight minutes until the next train.

“It doesn't matter. You're great, Lambert...maybe I don't say it enough,” it feels weird. Standing on the elevated platform, in the open air, the sound of tipsy people humming all around them. “I think you're amazing. And I like people, even strangers, knowing that you're _mine_.”

Lambert doesn't really have a response. Other than he's okay with whatever it is Aiden’s feeling. Whatever it might be that he needs. He stands behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Aiden’s waist and letting him lean back against him. It's easy to fit his chin on Aiden’s shoulder, as the minutes pass and they wait for the train that will take them home to roll in.


	16. Winter

Aiden arrives at Kaer Morhen, and before he can even walk through the vaulted entrance, he is certain that he has made a mistake in coming.

He wears his hood up to obscure his face, gloves to hide his hands. Careful, to arrive after the first frost, so that he is certain that Lambert would have arrived before him. But the fortress stands empty, not a soul in sight. And Aiden wonders if he has walked into a trap, his coiling, terrifying suspicions of Lambert’s intent turning out to be correct.

His boots are silent against the stones as he travels the length of the main hall. Dozens of beds are arranged in a semi-circle, more than the total number of Witchers who survive across all the schools. But it does not take long to realize that the cots are never used. Just made up and arranged to suggest greater numbers. A monument to their past.

Once, long ago, this place was alive. And it was Aiden’s brethren who saw to its demise. Culling the Wolves, slaughtering them like prey instead of the predators they fancied themselves. Carved up like meat. 

Only then to have insanity pick away at the Cats own numbers, year by year. Aiden suspects he may not have much time left. That the creep of the Trails will steal his mind as well. The Cats’ botched chemicals leaving him with malformed mutations. It is a wonder that he has survived this long.

Aiden hears a commotion at the door, loud voices, cheerful conversation. Out of habit, he steals away, melting into the architecture of the room, he uses one of the heavy wooden supports for cover, obscuring his position from the new arrivals.

He watches carefully, as the party arrives, three of them in all. A senior Witcher, hair and mustache thick and gray all the way through, shoulders sturdy, even if his stature is a bit on the shorter side. He carries himself with a weary authority, allowing the two younger prospects to misbehave at his sides.

The next Witcher, to the elder’s left, is perhaps two inches taller, with a width to his shoulders that is impressive indeed. A deep claw mark crosses over his orbital bone, down his cheek, splitting his lip. The scar it leaves behind looks particularly pink and raw, though it is certainly already several years healed. His dark hair falls pleasantly across his forehead. There is a boyishness to his plump features, something that Aiden does not find disagreeable.

But ah, the third. Aiden’s beloved, though he has not quite yet found the words to speak his affections directly. Lambert is sure to mock him, no matter what sweet phrases Aiden ultimately settles upon. But Lambert, Lambert, Lambert, with his receding hairline and too-thin nose, the paltry cut down his eye and onto his cheek, barely worth mentioning in the realm of Witchers. His bothersome lankyness compared to his companions, the loose way he holds his posture. The sneer that is always curling at his lips.

Aiden truly made a poor choice in lovers, but, alas, there’s no going back now.

He waits in silence as the Witchers amble through the grand entryway, too absorbed in one another to properly use their senses. Regardless, Aiden is very skilled in concealment. It is perhaps his best attribute, his finest, freakish gift.

The eldest stands at the foot of the staircase, running one hand across his brow in exasperation with the other two. They speak of the infestation on the lake. They will have to bait more traps. Food sources are plentiful in the mountains, however, so they’ll have to find something worth the monsters’ fancy if they ever hope for the traps to spring.

Aiden waits until the group breaks up, each Witcher going his separate way. Just his luck that it is Lambert who stays behind, leaning against the banister with his arms folded over his chest, waiting for the broad one, Eskel, to return from the kitchens.

Seeing his chance, Aiden slips through the shadows, careful to keep his footfall muffled. He waits until Lambert looks off towards the direction from which he expects Eskel to return, to slip in front of Lambert’s position.

“Did you miss me?” Aiden smiles, rocking backwards on his heels.

Lambert startles enough to shout, his hand darting for the pommel of his blade. Aiden catches his wrist as he moves his hand behind his head, pinning it instead to the banister railing and leaning forward, pushing their chests and hips together in a single, sleek approach.

“You fucking bastard,” Lambert grins, “you came.” He reaches up with his other hand to push down Aiden’s hood, his fingers calloused and still slightly chilled from being outdoors.

And oh, that lovely affection in Lambert’s voice, the quiet surprise. Relief. At least one winter where he will not have to fret that Aiden has met his end on the right end of a blade, a poison he couldn’t stomach, or simply found someone else’s bed to warm.

They are so blissfully close, Lambert’s lips quirking, waiting eagerly for Aiden’s to join. He wraps his unbound arm around Aiden’s waist, keeping their bodies flush, the weight of their lighter armors and heavier coats little deterrent to their building pleasure, blooming from their being close at all.

Aiden feels the hand against his spine start to wander, though he still denies Lambert the kiss that he expects, teasing out this moment as long as it will last. Worth the frustration, when Lambert finally breaks. And oh, he will break.

“Uh, you feel like introducing me to your friend?” 

Both Aiden and Lambert snap their attention to Eskel, a sack of hardened cheese gripped tightly in one fist. The bait that the monsters will find delectable, no doubt. Fatty and fragrant, and so different than what they can scavenge otherwise.

Lambert rolls his eyes, his grip around Aiden’s waist never loosening, “This is Aiden, Aiden, Eskel, Eskel, Aiden.”

Lambert has promised Aiden several times that his brothers will not be unnerved by Aiden’s preference for men, or Lambert’s return of Aiden’s interest. Considering the things they’ve stuck their cocks into over the years. None of them are in any position to talk.

Still, allowing himself to be touched by another man in such a public fashion, even if it is simply one spectator, is entirely new to Aiden, who has spent his lifetime avoiding yet another addition to the list of things that make him wrong for this continent.

Eskel nods, “He’s a Witcher.”

“What gave it away?” Aiden shows the teeth behind his false smile, filed down flat as to not draw even more attention. 

Eskel simply waves his hand up and down, as if to signal ‘all of it.’ “But your school….”

Aiden presses himself more tightly against Lambert’s chest, keeping his medallion out of sight. But they can only keep this charade up for so long. Because then, just fucking then, the elder, Vesemir, descends the staircase.

“You’d better answer, child.”

Lambert snickers, “Hope you have a soft spot for strays, old man.”

Tucking his head in at Lambert’s shoulder, Aiden groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im back on my bullshit.


	17. Winter 2

Lambert leads Aiden by the hand, ascending the steps two at a time until they reach their destination. With so few Witchers now in residence, each has their own private chambers. As Lambert fiddles with his lock, he drops a quiet apology that as the youngest, he has the least impressive room.

Even so, Lambert’s chambers are more spacious than Aiden could have ever dreamed. He’s so used to spending his winters in the tiny attic apartment in Novigrad, when he’s lucky. Scraping by with less permanent accommodations otherwise. There has been nowhere else for Aiden to safely lay his head for years.

There’s still this lead in his gut, weighing down Aiden’s every step. He doesn’t belong here, in the belly of the Wolf. But admitting as much might spell the end of his affair with Lambert, and that is not a sacrifice he is willing to make. At least not yet. He knows his time with Lambert will be fleeting, brief. Lambert is more than capable of bedding women, and eventually the novelty of putting his cock in Aiden, or having Aiden put his cock in him, will wear off. Aiden can only be grateful that as Witchers, their fancies are not quite as short-lived as that of humans. 

They have met each of the last five summers. Aiden is hoping for a handful more. He is almost certain that the success of their prolonged cohabitation this winter will determine the duration of Lambert’s continued interest.

Lambert’s bed is framed by two heavy, impressive wardrobes pinned on either side, rising up to almost touch the vaulted ceiling. He throws open the door to the wardrobe positioned furthest from the hall, closer to the open balcony window, where cool air catches in the draperies.

“You can store your shit in there,” Lambert offers. The dresser is bare. Aiden wonders if it’s always been. He had told Lambert nothing of his plans before arriving at Kaer Morhen. But each Autumn Lambert has asked him to come before snowfall. And each frost, Aiden has stayed away.

Aiden throws his entire bag into the dresser, not bothering to unpack. He will, in time, but at the moment, he is more interested in the fact that he has Lambert alone, and with access to a bed larger than any other that they’ve shared.

Smiling, Aiden steps in closer, until he can just perceive the warmth radiating from Lambert’s puffed-out chest. He noticed the same downstairs, that Lambert carries himself differently in front of his brothers. Though more muscular than men, thicker than Aiden’s Cat’s-build too, Lambert is slight compared to the elder Wolves. To compensate, he shifts his posture, his spine taking on a slightly concave dip, so that he might hide some of his lankiness.

Aiden reaches around Lambert’s waist, pressing his hands into the hollow of his back, tugging at his tunic so it might ride up enough that Aiden may brush coarse fingers against his spine. Tilting his head, Lambert casts him a smile, and Aiden is never so thankful for the similarity in their heights as when he might kiss Lambert’s mouth with little fanfare. Short and beautifully chaste, despite the lecherous paths their lips and teeth have walked the times before.

At the tip of his tongue is a question that burns, a searing, terrible pain. The answer is sure to make Aiden ache, to think about the women that Lambert has taken in this bed before. Not because they are women, no, it is only that Aiden knows that there were no men. He is simply, irrationally cross that anyone may have spoiled these sheets before him. Unbecoming jealousy. And he has heard rumors that Wolves are fond of Sorceresses. And Sorceresses equally fond of them.

He tugs Lambert towards the bed, until the backs of his own knees hit the edge of the mattress, pulling Lambert between his spread thighs. Lambert grins, feral and too-confident of his position. Aiden should perhaps feign disinterest, but they’ve already delayed enough.

Rough hands slip underneath Aiden’s tunic, urging him to lift his shoulders and tear the offending garment off. Lambert’s teeth latch embarrassingly quickly to Aiden’s neck, prompting an annoyed hiss, unbidden.

“Don’t want to leave any question about what we did,” Lambert coos against Aiden’s throat, sucking wetly against exposed skin.

“I don’t think,” Aiden lets out a groan that is far too satisfied for his level of frustration, “any of your brothers harbor mistaken ideas regarding our relations.”

“Mmm,” Lambert hums, “you haven’t met Geralt yet. And he can be awfully dense.” They do not even bother to undress, Lambert lazily grinding against Aiden’s tented erection. He plants his hands on either side of Aiden’s hips to support his weight, thrusting into the space between Aiden’s thighs.

As much as Aiden may want to come, as much as he too lacks the patience to prepare for anything more than rutting, Aiden refuses to come in his trousers like a teenager. He tries to bat Lambert away so that they may both strip. If they are about to do this, he wants to feel the hard heat of Lambert’s prick sliding against his bare skin. There will be plenty of time for more than that in the days—the months to come.

Lambert rushes to strip clumsily, while Aiden finishes with his trousers. They tumble back into bed together, hands and legs tangled, stretching out each point of contact until their surfaces meld together. Aiden laughs into Lambert’s hair, calling him greedy, precious. Though the same might be said of him. 

Grabbing into the meat of Aiden’s ass, Lambert holds him still long enough to grind between his cock and leg, panting curses and promises regarding the duration of the winter. Half of it is pure filth, about how he’ll make sure Aiden never walks straight again. Aiden can’t help but laugh at that, throwing back his head; he’d like to see Lambert try, when just as often he’s the one who is a keening, mewling mess, just waiting to get opened up and driven through the floorboards.

But the other half is something else. Something fragile and important. 

Lambert wants to make Aiden happy. 

That maybe, somehow, together, they might learn how to properly be men, rather than the creatures they were molded into. And Aiden’s voice gets caught in is throat, no matter how lovely Lambert makes him feel. He comes, yes, his release and Lambert’s sticking between their bodies, growing cool and disgusting as they continue to lay together. But after their lust has cooled, Lambert kisses into Aiden’s hair, telling him that they’ll go fishing in the frozen pond. They’ll hunt. Not for monsters, but for deer. And in and out of this bed they’ll share in the winter to come, they’ll be good to one another, when for so long they’ve been told that they are wretched.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments and kudos very much appreciated!


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